


It starts with a kiss

by jimmriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimmriarty/pseuds/jimmriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He found out that Jim doesn't really care if his expensive clothes are thrown on the ground - even if, after the sex, he does nothing but complain about it every time. He found out that he often wears ridiculous underwear with weird patterns on the expensive fabric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It starts with a kiss

The first time he kisses him just out of curiosity.

On his mouth Sherlock tastes mint and the light aftertaste of the last cigarette. Jim has his hands clenching at Sherlock's dark curls: he kisses him, leaning more toward the detective, heedless of the fact that they are both sitting on the ledge of the roof of St. Barths with their legs dangling in the void. They could fall. It doesn’t seems to matter to him.

Sherlock’s hands are fixed on the concrete, white knuckles because of the tight grip. He is not willing to die for a simple kiss.

Their lips part with a wet sound and Sherlock retreats slightly. He doesn’t know exactly what he expected, but he’s not satisfied. Jim’s skin is soft, his lips are slightly dry and his kiss is somehow ordinary, so at odds with his brilliant mind that Sherlock finds himself unable to chase away the taste of bitter disappointment he feels in his throat.

The detective brushes his thumb upon his own lips and decides to get up and go away, leaving Jim alone.

He needs to think.

 

The second time he kisses him to gather informations. 

He kisses him because all the experiments have to be repeated several times, he kisses him because something must have gone wrong, because it’s not possible that James Moriarty disappoints him and proves to be a person like any other. Maybe he kisses him because the mint on his lips wasn’t that bad. 

Sherlock has hands on his cheeks and narrowed eyes when he meets Jim’s mouth. He slides the tongue between his parted lips and kisses him more passionately. He needs more data.

He moves away only when he feels his lungs are about to explode and reels, while Jim looks at him with heavy breath and a smile so full of malice that makes him feel incredibly dirty. Sherlock stares at him straight in the eyes, as if in them he could find the reason why he feels almost guilty despite having done nothing. It is not an unpleasant feeling, but he can’t understand. He doesn’t like not understanding things.

Jim, however, prevents him from thinking: his white teeth shine only for a moment before capturing his lower lip and, before Sherlock could really realize it, the hands are placed on his chest, pushing him back until he meets one of the walls with his back. Only then Jim moves from his mouth. He leaves many light kisses on his jaw line and places his lips lower, on the neck. 

Sherlock wraps his waist with both arms and pulls him closer. Jim's body seems much more desirable than the previous time, maybe because now they are in a safer place, maybe it's because of some previous error, maybe ... Maybe he doesn't really care anymore, because Jim gently scrapes his skin with teeth and Sherlock prefers to tilt his neck rather than puzzling over unnecessary issues. Jim smiles, teeth sinking more into the flesh and mouth sucking his skin. It would probably leave a hickey. 

Sherlock begins to predict how much the mark left by the other will be extended, but the image slips away like sand between his fingers when he feels the criminal’s erection on his pelvis. Jim rubs indecently against him, and the detective's lips open, letting out a little moan that makes the criminal giggle directly against his throat. 

Then he stops suddenly, replacing the teeth with the tip of his nose. He touches his skin gently, whispering something that Sherlock can't really understand - he's too distracted by their erections rubbing together, forced into pants now too tight - and runs his hands, up to that moment motionless, on his chest. 

He caresses him over the tight shirt and slides his fingers on the pecs, the abs and then lower, to the pants that he quickly goes to unbutton. Jim touches him upon the fabric of underwear - Sherlock sighs heavily and leans his head against the wall - and lowers slowly, without taking his eyes off him. 

There is something incredibly arousing in watching the greatest criminal mind of the world kneel in front of him. 

When his pants slips down to the ankles, Sherlock closes his eyes and swallows hard. Jim plays with the elastic of his boxers for a moment, then he wraps with his lips the bulge under the fabric and…

And then nothing, because the touch is interrupted with a rapidity that leaves him breathless. When Sherlock opens his eyes James Moriarty is standing in front of him, lips drawn back in a grin and cheeks slightly flushed. Despite the obvious erection in his pants he manages to keep his composure.

"Sherlock, darling, I'm afraid I have to go." He says, voice soft like a velvet caress. Jim takes a step forward, the sound of the expensive shoes resonates in the silent apartment, and stops just inches from his face.  
“I don’t leave without saying goodbye, unlike someone else.”

Sherlock can’t hold back an exasperated sigh. He would like to just pull him closer - there are physical requirements to be satisfied - but, for some unknown reason, he finds himself unable to move. He just stares at him until he turns his back and disappears from his sight, closing the door behind him. 

Sherlock hisses a curse under his breath and runs a hand over his face. He needs a cold shower.

 

 

Over the course of the months he found out more and more things about Moriarty.

He found out that Jim doesn't really care if his expensive clothes are thrown on the ground - even if, after the sex, he does nothing but complain about it every time. He found out that he often wears ridiculous underwear with weird patterns on the expensive fabric. 

Sherlock has also found out that he had lost sight of his original goal. 

Jim rides him, moaning indecently his name (among other things like "harder" and "if you come now i'm gonna kill you") and there is no time to collect useless data that Sherlock uses only to justify - with little credibility - his relationship with Moriarty.

All the detective can think about is Jim and the warmth of his body, Jim and the way he scratches his hips, humping once again his cock and looking at him with eyes that are too big and dark.

When Jim calls his name one more time, Sherlock sits up, tightening the grip around his waist. It’s so beautiful and perfect and when Jim’s nails scratches his back, the criminal’s name leaves Sherlock’s lips one more time. Jim smiles on his skin, rubbing his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck, whispering disconnected sentences. The detective reaches the climax with a few more thrusts, coming into Jim with a deep groan. He kisses the criminal afterwards, helping him to reach his orgasm with one of his hands.

They both remain silent for a while, chests that rise and fall with the same rhythm and gasps mixing in the air. Only when their breath returns normal, Jim lifts - one last moan leaves his lips in doing so - and drops on the mattress, while Sherlock closes his eyes and turns his back.

Jim always takes a shower first. The roar of the water is never able to cover his singing voice. Sometimes Sherlock wants to tell him something - his musical tastes are terrible and he should change his repertoire of songs - but he never says anything. After all, Jim has quite a pleasant voice and listen to him is kinda relaxing.. 

When Jim comes back to put on his own clothes, it's Sherlock's turn to wash himself. He always take a quick shower and, when he returns, the criminal is already gone. It's always been that way and neither of them has never said anything about it.

The mattress, however, keeps being bent under Jim's weight and Sherlock frowns in confusion.   
"Aren't you going to wash yourself?"  
"I don't want to."Jim turns, sliding lazily his arm around the detective's body. "I'm tired." He says, lying a chaste kiss on the back of his neck.

Jim wants to spend the night with him. 

The realization doesn't hit him right away. Sherlock takes few seconds - during the which he takes into considerations all the more improbable hypothesis - before arriving at the most logical conclusion. 

It’s a thought so incredibly simple and straightforward, that it is almost hard to accept. There is something intimate and familiar at the same time in the way Jim hugs him and breathes against his skin, something that he would never associate with Moriarty. 

He has a lot of questions dancing on the tip of my tongue, but when he opens his lips, he asks the most stupid one.

"You know the big spoon is usually the tallest partner, right?"

"Sherlock, shut up.”


End file.
